


Iris

by Empatheia



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Flash Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-13
Updated: 2008-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Empatheia
Summary: The second chance he never expected to get, and all the ways he very nearly botched it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bleach flashfic comm on LJ.

_and I'd give up forever to touch you_

 

Byakuya was tired.

 

He would never admit to it or ask for leniency, much preferring death to such humility, but it was a constant ache in his bones that never faded no matter how much sleep he indulged in.

 

After a month or so he was forced to admit that it was not a physical weariness and no short or extended constitutional would relieve him of it. He was simply tired of everything, and there were few cures for that, none of which were even accessible to him.

 

Rukia eased the ache somewhat, because she tended to do things which were interesting — though usually unwise — and because she kept _very_ interesting company. Yoruichi also stirred him from his lethargy whenever she blew through his life, but only for the brief moments while she was there and insulting him most intolerably. Renji was mildy amusing sometimes, and a few others had their moments as well, but nobody made him look forward to the next day as if it were something which might be enjoyable. The moment they left his sight, that inexplicable exhaustion settled back down like dust into a rutted road, heavy and choking.

 

He was old.

 

He hardly looked it, of course; it took untold centuries in Soul Society to make one look like Overcaptain Yamamoto, and a lot of people half suspected he actually chose to look like that and was really not that much older than the rest of them at all. The fact was that there were few people anywhere in Rukongai or the Court of Pure Souls — or anywhere around or outside of those, for that matter — who was much older than five hundred. They _could_ live longer, of course, it was entirely possible, but they had to _want_ to, and most people grew so weary of this unchanging world of death that they only lasted a century or two before giving themselves up to reincarnation.

 

Byakuya was weary, but the thought of reincarnation made him even more tired because back on Earth he would have no memory of who he was and would have to struggle for his identity and strength all over again. It seemed counterproductive to throw himself into battle with the meaning of life when he was already this tuckered out.

 

He still thought about it, though, whenever his external circumstances were more boring than his inner ones.

 

Right now was a prime example of such an occasion.

 

"Are we boring you, Captain Kuchiki?" grated the Overcaptain, hands white-knuckled on the knob of his staff.

 

Byakuya was a master of pretending not to be caught off-guard, and so instead of blushing like a schoolboy and bowing apologetically, he merely flicked his gaze off to the right and let his head follow in its own sweet time. "Not at all, Overcaptain. I am listening."

 

"Am I to assume then that there is something wrong with this assignment which would cause you to think so deeply about accepting it, in that case?"

 

Assignment? What assignment? Damn his unconscious tendency to tune out anything that didn't seem immediately relevant. It would appear that this one actually was, to him, which was worrying since Byakuya had absolutely no idea what the Overcaptain was talking about. "No, sir," he bluffed. "Of course I accept."

 

"Well, good," the old man grouched, "I'll expect a report from you a week from now."

 

Byakuya bowed to cover his discomfiture. "I shall see it done."

 

The discussion turned immediately to other topics, which he made a point of listening to this time though they were horrifically boring as usual.

 

Wonderful. Minor disaster avoided. Now what?

 

He would have to ask one of the other captains what he had missed, which would be humiliating and make him look like a foolish child caught napping in class. Ah, well. No help for it. He scanned their faces, trying to decide who was the best person to approach.

 

Soi Fong, Ukitake and Komamura would scold him for not being diligent enough in his work, and he would deserve it, which would make it worse. He crossed them off his list. Shunsui and Mayuri were terrible people and would likely blackmail or tease him mercilessly, so he crossed them off as well. Hitsugaya would be unbearably smug, so he was out. Zaraki was likely not paying attention either and wouldn't know to tell him. That left Unohana, who would make him feel approximately twelve years old when he asked her but would at least refrain from reproaching him. He decided on her just in time to nearly miss the next announcement.

 

"Dismissed," said the Overcaptain.

 

With a sigh of relief Byakuya trudged (gracefully) out into the hallway to find Unohana waiting for him.

 

"Lovely weather today, wouldn't you say?" she asked tranquilly.

 

It was grey and raining outside, and there was a sharp late-spring wind. He stared at her. "Quite," he agreed, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

 

She continued as though there was nothing wrong. "The plum trees should blossom sooner with all this moisture."

 

"Indeed." Byakuya was entirely befuddled. Unohana Retsu never did anything without a reason, never spoke without having something to say, and standing in a hallway talking to her about the weather was rather surreal to him.

 

A hallway which was, incindentally, quietly emptying as they spoke.

 

...Oh.

 

Mayuri slunk around the corner out of sight, the last occupant of the hallway except for them, and Unohana smiled beatifically. "I would recommend waiting for a day or two before embarking on your assignment," she said. "The streets of Rukongai will be very muddy for a while after the rain stops."

 

Rukongai?

 

"Thank you, I think I shall," he said, hoping beyond hope that she would continue without him having to ask.

 

As though reading his thoughts, she took his arm and began to guide him down the hallway towards the door outside. "I would also recommend beginning your search in the thirty-fourth district," she said. "I was in the area a few days ago and sensed something which may be worth investigating."

 

Investigating. Rukongai. Search.

 

Byakuya allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He was fairly sure now he knew what he was supposed to do. Of course, that hardly lessened the ignominy of the task. It was something usually assigned to lower ranking division members who were good at sensing dormant reiatsu, not captains who had plenty on their plates already. But then, the loss of so many shinigami during the War of the Key had put a lot of strain on all human resources. He supposed the remaining division members were working too hard on rebuilding the Court to be spared for this.

 

"How many do you think I'll find this year?" he wondered aloud.

 

"I estimate perhaps two hundred," said Unohana. "Aizen was quite thorough."

 

He forced himself not to slump or appear otherwise dejected in any way. "It will take me some time to find that many."

 

"Best to get started as soon as you can, then," Unohana said, releasing his arm and patting him gently on the shoulder.

 

He was sure he imagined the amused glint in her eyes as she walked away.

 

*

 

Staring mournfully at the mud-caked hems of his hakama, Byakuya heartily wished he'd waited those couple of days before venturing down into this sty. Rukongai was never very pleasant, and post–spring rain Rukongai could not be associated with the word no matter how hard one stretched things. It was damp, rotting, and filthy everywhere, so that he felt as if he were swimming in it.

 

At least the sun was out today, though it did little but turn the sky an unhappy shade of faded blue.

 

Byakuya trudged (gracefully) up to the next door on his list and knocked impatiently.

 

After a few minutes, a pinched and distrustful grimy face snaked around the doorframe and stared up at him. "Whaddya want?"

 

"I wish to speak with your housemate," Byakuya droned monotonously. He had said variations of this a dozen times today already and was ferociously bored with the entire process. "Do me the kindness of bringing him out."

 

The urchin glared at him. "Whaddya want with Taku-nii?"

 

"That is certainly none of your business."

 

Byakuya wondered if the urchin would slam the door in his face. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, which was thankfully interrupted — before it culminated in an attempt on Byakuya's nose — by the other occupant of the house.

 

"Can I help you?" asked the clean-cut older boy.

 

Reiatsu leaked steadily from him like shining silver rivulets. His eyes were sunken with hunger. It was a miracle he was still able to walk with all the power draining from him moment by moment.

 

"Takuya, I presume," Byakuya said.

 

"Yes, sir," the boy answered, clearly unsettled but straight-backed. "What can I do for you?"

 

"I am Captain Kuchiki Byakuya of the Court of Pure Souls. Report to the district hall in the morning exactly one week from now if you wish to live."

 

Takuya's eyes widened. "Live? What do you mean, sir? I'm a little ill, but—"

 

"You are not ill," Byakuya interrupted, irritated and tired. "You are starving, and if you do not get some proper food soon you will wither and die. You may not have noticed, but you have some measure of power, and there is a call for those like you within the Court. I will not explain myself twice. Go to the hall at the appointed time, and others will explain the situation to you more fully. Use this week to say your goodbyes, as you will likely not have an opportunity to return here for some time."

 

"What? No way, you're not taking Taku-nii away," the urchin snarled, throwing himself at Byakuya, who dodged neatly and let the boy sprawl in the mud.

 

"I am not," Byakuya agreed, "I am giving him a choice. If he does not come he will die. That is all."

 

"Chika," Takuya said gently, "come inside. It isn't Captain Kuchiki's fault."

 

Byakuya was faintly impressed that the boy had remembered his name even after such a shock. He decided to keep the boy in mind as someone who would likely go far.

 

Now that his message was delivered, he turned and left, leaving the adoptive brothers to sort out their feelings by themselves. Their tears were none of his business, and he had learned long ago that pity usually met with resentment and wasn't worth bothering with. The boundaries of what was his to meddle with and what was not were by now very clear in his mind, so he felt no guilt in walking away without offering consolation. It was not his place to do so.

 

Now, where to next? He consulted his list and set off in the general direction indicated.

 

He was so, so tired of all of this.

 

*

 

When the seventy-eighth door opened five days later, he was so far gone into a half-insensate state of instinctual operation that it took him a good fifteen seconds to realize what he was looking at.

 

He stared and stared, unblinking, until she began to fidget.

 

When it finally hit him, he very nearly turned around and walked away without a word because it was too unexpected, too sudden, too overwhelming to deal with on the spot. He needed to go for a good long walk, have a few days' meditation in the garden, and consult a few subordinates before opening his mouth here.

 

Unfortunately, he had no time for that. She was already speaking.

 

"Sir, is there something I can help you with?"

 

Oh, yes. There were many somethings that fell into that category, but he couldn't put voice to a single one.

 

"Hall," he croaked. "Week from now. Attendance highly recommended.... Food."

 

She tilted her head in a way that was horribly familiar and cocked an eyebrow at him. "I am sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Could you repeat yourself?"

 

Byakuya never repeated himself. Nevertheless, he had to concede that his original delivery had been less than stellar and tried again. "Your presence is required," he began, then stopped because his throat had closed.

 

_Your presence is required._

 

He realized, like someone observing another person from a distance through a fog, that he was very possibly about to cry. His face felt naked and open, and he was sure she could see right through him. She always could, it had driven him to distraction so many times, any minute now she would open her mouth and ask him—

 

"Are you all right, sir?" she asked, clearly concerned. "Would you like to come in? I haven't got much, but you are welcome to share."

 

His chest was going to implode, shatter in on itself and leave an unsightly hole in him like a Hollow. He couldn't breathe, not with that voice and those dark eyes and that disobedient bob of black hair and that familiar smile which had broken him so long ago right in front of his face.

 

"I—" he whispered, then "You—" He failed again, and decided to simply go with what his mouth wanted to say, which was very simple and very stupid. "Hisana."

 

For a long moment, nothing at all happened and he began to entertain hope that all her memories were coming back and she would shortly throw herself into his arms even though he knew, _knew_ beyond a shadow of a doubt that that wasn't how it worked.

 

Then she frowned, and the moment splintered. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

 

" _Hisana?_ " he repeated, incredulous. It was next to impossible that she still bore the same name; it should have been wiped away while passing through the veil, along with everything else that made up her current incarnation.

 

She backed up slightly, putting the edge of the door between them so she could shut him out quickly if necessary. "How do you know my name? Who are you? What do you want from me?"

 

_What do you want from me?_

 

It took all of his considerable willpower not to say _Everything_ , and the only thing that stopped him was knowing that she would take it the wrong way (or rather, entirely the right way) and be frightened. "I... I apologize," he stuttered, dragging himself back under control with a truly heroic effort. "My name is Captain Kuchiki Byakuya of the Court of Pure Souls," he said, memory playing over and over in his head and making it virtually impossible to compose himself fully. "Please report to the district hall in the morning one week from today for evaluation."

 

"Evaluation?" she echoed, confused. "For what?"

 

"You have spiritual power," he said bluntly. "You are needed."

 

Why couldn't he stop speaking in double entendres?

 

"Oh," she said, "I see. All right."

 

He bowed stiffly, then forced himself to turn away.

 

"Wait a moment," she called to his back.

 

He froze, praying she wouldn't say anything and wanting to hear her voice again nevertheless.

 

She hesitated for a brief, painful moment, then asked "Will you be there?"

 

Byakuya was simultaneously deeply thankful and deeply regretful that he would not, in fact, be there to welcome her into the Court of Pure Souls. He wanted nothing more than to see her again, but at the same time he was too pragmatic to pretend he didn't understand that this Hisana didn't remember him. She had no reason to be happy about his presence. She was unfailingly polite, as she had always been, but she didn't care about him as she once had.

 

It was unbearable.

 

"No," he whispered, "I won't."

 

"Oh," she said, and he knew he was imagining the wistful regret in her voice. "Thank you anyways."

 

"My pleasure," he replied automatically. Then, unable to make himself simply walk away with her eyes at his back, launched himself into the sky and vanished amid the sagging rooftops.

 

Once a safe distance away, he stopped, balancing easily on the apex of a sloping red roof. His face was safely unreadable again to anyone who might be looking, but his insides were hardly recognizable as belonging to him.

 

He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who had managed to shake him into feeling things. Among these select few numbered Renji, Rukia, and occasionally Yoruichi, but at the top and far above all the others was the one he'd just left standing in a dusty Rukongai doorway.

 

Dimly, he realized that he was shaking.

 

Had Unohana known? Was this the reason behind the amusement in her eyes back then? If so, he was going to kill her. Slowly.

 

The rage lasted for all of three minutes before dissipating before the realization that Unohana was many things, but cruel did not number among them. If there had been amusement and he had not imagined it, it had been for a different reason than this.

 

He took a deep breath.

 

And another.

 

Fact: Hisana had apparently completed another life-cycle on Earth and had returned to Soul Society.

 

Fact: As was right and correct, she did not remember him.

 

Fact: As was entirely wrong and heartbreaking, she did not remember him.

 

Fact: Somehow, he was going to have to live with the knowledge that she was alive, close by, and once again failing utterly to be in love with him.

 

Byakuya gave the rest of the day up as a bad job and went home.

 

It is possible that he cried just a little.

 

*

 

After a long, sleepless night of intense thought, Byakuya decided that it was no good obsessing over her all over again since he already knew how it would turn out. Therefore, he was going to do his best to put her out of his mind and pretend the entire incident had been nothing but a fever dream brought on by the squalorous conditions he'd spent days mucking about in. The standing water must have cultivated something nasty and he had simply succumbed to it unawares.

 

It very nearly worked.

 

For the next four years he entertained himself by studiously Not Thinking of her. It took a lot of energy and effort, and that kept him so helpfully distracted that he almost forgot how tired he was. Everyone remarked that the assignment in Rukongai had been good for him, he was so much livelier these days, he must have enjoyed himself.

 

He told no one the truth. No one guessed, because nobody had time to wander around the Academy these days except the harried teachers themselves.

 

Four blissful years of denial, wrecked by one tiny stack of papers lying innocently on the desk before him.

 

HIGURASHI HISANA read the header.

 

Following it was a detailed report on her grades, her temperament, her assets and demerits, everything he could possibly want to know about HIGURASHI HISANA as a candidate for a place in his division.

 

Seat applications. Byakuya hated them more than anything in that moment. He wanted to take that offensive stack of reports and light them on fire, then watch with vindictive pleasure as they burned to ash.

 

What was he supposed to do now? He could hardly refuse her. To say that his division 'needed people' was roughly equivalent to saying a desert 'needed water.' They were operating on what amounted to little more than a skeleton crew, and from what he was reading HIGURASHI HISANA would be a blessing to his overworked subordinates. She had moderate talent with healing massages, was fast and efficient with paperwork, and though her physical strength was low she had very high hand-eye coordination and would be good for more precise work. To put it mildly, he absolutely could not turn her down.

 

The problem was that he would give his left arm happily to push Hisana — his Hisana, except not — as far away from him as humanly possible. He could not imagine how torturous it would be to see her every day, give her orders, fight beside her, and know with unshakeable certainty all the while that she had no idea how he felt and wouldn't care if she did.

 

"Renji," he said, voice raised just high enough that his vice-captain could not fail to hear him, but not nearly high enough to be classed as a 'bellow.' Those were undignified and he did not indulge in them.

 

The door flew open.

 

(Renji could not simply open a door. If it was such a door that could not be smashed without violating various social regulations, he had to at least open it with some measure of forcible flair. Byakuya privately thought it was a miracle the hinges on this one had lasted as long as they had, the way they were treated day-in and day-out.)

 

"Yes, captain?" Renji asked, clearly thrilled to be needed.

 

He was like a puppy. Byakuya wondered for the eight hundredth time what Renji would do if Byakuya patted him on the head and called him a good boy. Bearing the ragged and vicious edges of Zabimaru in mind, it wasn't a very good idea, but the temptation remained, unbudging. "Imagine a theoretical situation," he said, to distract himself.

 

"Uh, okay," said Renji. "What kind of situation are we talkin' here?"

 

"Pretend there is a man, who was once in love with a woman. That woman died and went back to the living world, then died there and came back here. She remembers nothing of her previous life here, including the man who loved her."

 

"Right. Gotcha. And then?"

 

"Then say, perhaps, through extenuating circumstances, she were to end up obliviously asking to be put in a permanent situation involving daily contact with the man, who had the power to refuse her but not the reason. Bear in mind that the man still cares about this theoretical woman who does not theoretically care in the slightest about him, and it would be... somewhat uncomfortable to be in such close proximity. What should the man do?"

 

Renji stared at him with a horrible knowing look that made Byakuya want to kill him just on the off-chance that he knew what was being talked about.

 

"Well, if it were me, I would suck it up and deal with it," Renji said with a shrug after an awful spiralling moment. "It's not her fault this guy's awkward about her, it would be really unfair to turn her down without telling her why."

 

"I see," said Byakuya. "That is all. You may leave."

 

Renji looked confused, but nodded and turned to leave. Near the doorway, he paused. "You could just tell her why you don't want her around," he said quickly. "That way you could turn her down without hurting her pride."

 

"Whatever makes you think I'm talking about myself?" Byakuya replied coolly, counting slowly backwards from ten in his head.

 

His obnoxiously red-headed vice-captain shrugged; a signature gesture of his. "Not a clue. Sorry. Good luck to your... theowhatever guy."

 

"Theoretical," he corrected absently, but Renji was already gone.

 

So. That was that. He could either force himself to be a mature adult and deal with her in a professional manner, or he could tell her his sob story and try not to fall apart into a soppy mess on her lap.

 

"Welcome to the sixth division, HIGURASHI HISANA," he said, then poured himself a very large drink.

 

*

 

Of course, trying to keep it a secret was essentially pointless, and he realized that within the first week of her inclusion in the sixth division.

 

The thing was, though he had only been a captain for a little over half a century, he had been a Kuchiki all his life, and that meant people paid attention to what he did. More specifically, it meant that everyone older than seventy and most people older than sixty knew all about his ill-fated marriage to the commoner girl Inuzuri no Hisana.

 

The minute Kyouraku Shunsui laid eyes on his new sixth seat, he knew exactly who she'd once been and set about pointing it out to everyone who would listen.

 

Shortly, all of Soul Society — except for the girl in question — knew that Captain Kuchiki had the reincarnation of his former wife working for him. Reactions ranged from amusement to pity, the first of which made him angry and the second of which made him sick. Most of the other things in between were equally unpleasant for him.

 

Hisana herself was endearingly oblivious to all the talk flying around her beautiful head, focused with admirable concentration on learning to do her work well.

 

Byakuya watched her helplessly, his calm far beyond reach whenever she was close.

 

"Captain Kuchiki, where should I file this? It could go under 'attempted invasions' but since they were friendly perhaps it could go under 'potential allies?'" She held up the papers in question, face sweetly curious.

 

He shook himself visibly after realizing he was staring. "File it under ' _ryoka_ ,'" he instructed. "It is a small folder, but I am sure you can find it."

 

"Yes, sir," she confirmed, snapping an unnecessary but unnervingly graceful salute before marching off to do his bidding.

 

He slumped back into his chair and tried to reason himself out of feeling awful. It didn't work. It never did. Logically he knew he should just pretend she was a completely different person and treat her as he did all strangers, but the fact was that even when he managed that much, he was still falling in love with her new self all over again. Even if she wasn't _his_ Hisana, he liked this new Hisana almost as much, and it was absolute murder to work with her while pretending indifference.

 

Approximately seven months after accepting her into his division, Byakuya gave up and requested that she be transferred.

 

The Overcaptain stared at him, uncomprehending. "She is doing very well," he pointed out, "and your division needs manpower the most. Why in the world would I transfer her elsewhere when she's exactly where she needs to be?"

 

"I simply.... She is.... Overcaptain, I cannot work with her," he stated baldly, face as blank as ever but his heart frantically wringing its imaginary hands inside his ribcage.

 

Yamamoto Genryuusai shrugged and pinned him with a ferocious eagle-glare. "You sound like a petulant child. You need her, and therefore you will keep your personal issues to yourself and do what's best for your division like the captain you are."

 

 _Take one for the team_ , Renji's voice agreed in his head.

 

Byakuya despaired.

 

*

 

For another month or so, he managed to tolerate her presence by sheer dint of numb determination, and things were finally beginning to look up.

 

He no longer flinched when she spoke, or stared at her so hard he missed what she was saying, or laid awake staring at his ceiling in mute frustration more than once a week.

 

Renji, of course, spoiled it simply by being who he was.

 

"Heya, Hisana!" he greeted her, waving a big idiotic hand at her until she stopped and came up to greet him with a sweet smile.

 

"What is it, Vice-Caption Abarai?" she asked politely.

 

Renji grinned, and Byakuya saw his doom on the horizon. "Oh, not much," he lied, "just that the division party is coming up pretty soon and I wanted to make sure you were coming."

 

The division party was an annual event for which participation was very nearly mandatory. Those who chose not to attend were ribbed mercilessly for the rest of the year and held some sort of inexplicable lower status than those who had gone. As the captain, he was required to be there by an unwritten but stone-hard law. Skiving off would be akin in his subordinates' eyes to deserting mid-battle and leaving them to die. It was simply unthinkable.

 

"Of course I'll come," she said happily. "It sounds like great fun."

 

For a moment, he was jarred by the dissonance between her current vibrantly healthy self and the her he had known before, already close to death when he met her and pale with its approach. The current her was like a gentler, sweeter, more polite Rukia.

 

Rukia. He wondered if she'd heard the news yet from the living world, where she lived with Ichigo by special dispensation. They had been well-occupied with matters in the living world and had not been back to visit for some time. It was possible that she had not, likely in fact, since he was sure that once she heard she would find a way to come as soon as she could to meet her long-lost sister.

 

He did not look forward to the day. He'd struggled for decades with seeing Hisana in Rukia's face. Seeing both of them together in one place would be dizzying.

 

For now, however, he focused on the matter at hand. Party, complete with liberal quantities of readily available intoxicants, which both he and Hisana would be attending.

 

He vowed to remain completely sober and hoped Hisana would do nothing to try his self-control. It would hopefully be enough, but it would not be fun by any definition of the word. He was not looking forward to it.

 

*

 

The air outside was not warm, but it was vastly preferable to the damp heaving mass of humanity inside. They were dancing, which mostly seemed to mean flailing wildly, and he was having none of it.

 

The deck, in his view, was truly where it was at.

 

He had had rather too much drink, which also contributed to his reasoning behind choosing solitude. It would hardly do to be in less than perfect control in front of his subordinates, especially Renji. He would never live down a slip in his facade if his vice-captain happened to witness it.

 

He had yet to come within twenty feet of Hisana. That was good.

 

Shifting experimentally, he felt himself slosh slightly and frowned. He honestly hadn't meant to drink at all, but the first sight of her merry, open face had convinced him that copious amounts of sake as soon as possible were a very good idea. Before he'd known it, he'd found himself sitting on the acceptably hospitable verandah, staring off into the night and attempting to narrow each star down to one hazy globe of light rather than three.

 

He reminded himself not to fall asleep there, because that... that would be... very....

 

He yawned massively, catching himself by surprise. The party still showed no signs of winding down. He fought off the weariness by having another two cups of sake, because they couldn't do any more harm at this point.

 

Or so he'd thought.

 

"Captain Kuchiki," said an extremely unwelcome voice behind him.

 

"Do you need something, Hisana?" He admired himself momentarily for how little his words slurred into each other.

 

She came and sat beside him. "I heard something very interesting from Vice-Captain Abarai," she said hesitantly, "and I wanted to check if it was true."

 

Byakuya began planning Renji's death in his head, complete with every excruciating detail he could think of in this muzzy state. "Must you?" he murmured.

 

Unfortunately, she seemed to have misheard that as permission, and bowed her head. "Did you really know me? Before?" she asked, so quiet he had to strain his ears to hear her.

 

"Yes," he answered, seeing no point in lying since literally everyone else knew the truth. In the sanctity of his mind, he tortured Renji most satisfactorily with assorted hot and pointy objects. "I did know you, once."

 

"Oh," she said, sounding utterly wretched and making him feel obscurely guilty. "And we were... were... well."

 

"Married," he supplied distantly, feeling himself detach from the situation. "Yes."

 

"And you... you...."

 

He swallowed the rest of his sake in one painful swallow before answering. "Yes, I loved you."

 

" _Loved?_ " she echoed softly.

 

Byakuya dared a glance at her, and found her staring at her thin, delicate hands where they rested on her knees. She was wearing a lovely hunter-green yukata with golden accents, and her hair fell loose and unruly about her flushed face. She looked impossibly beautiful and he was sure that if she didn't stand up and leave in about ten seconds he would fail at everything and kiss her. "Yes?" he agreed, not sure what she was asking.

 

She drew her knees up against her chest and stared sightlessly off into the garden. "Not ' _love?_ '" she whispered.

 

He was sure he had misheard her. "I beg your pardon?"

 

"Not _'love,'_ present tense?" she said quickly, forcing the words out as if they hurt her.

 

Byakuya sat stock-still and assessed the situation as best he could with his brain fogged by alcohol. Either she was asking if he still loved her so she would have grounds to request a transfer, which would destroy him and give him relief at the same time, or she was asking because she wanted to know. For her own sake. Which was much, much worse.

 

As both options were bad, lying would be the best course of action, but Kuchiki Byakuya was very, _very_ drunk and such subtleties of thought were rather beyond him. "Would it make it easier for you if I said I didn't love you anymore?" he asked baldly.

 

She recoiled as if struck. "I... Captain...."

 

"What do you _want_ from me?" he continued recklessly. "It was bad enough when you did not know the truth. If you wish to leave, I will sign your transfer. If you wish to stay.... You are very cruel, if you do, knowing that I love you and not— not—" He stopped, because this was getting into very dangerous territory and he wasn't sure he would survive if the conversation continued in this direction. "Let me be," he said tiredly. "I am too old for this."

 

"I didn't love you back, did I," she said, shattering all his hopes for a relatively painless end to an already miserable conversation.

 

He sighed, resigned to it. "No."

 

"I'm sorry," she said tentatively.

 

"Don't," he snapped. "It was no fault of yours. I always hated it when you apologized for things you weren't responsible for."

 

"No, I mean... I'm sorry I don't remember you," she protested, waving her hands dangerously. "I feel like I should, like it's right at the edge of my mind. Like seeing something out of the corner of my eye, but I can't quite get hold of it."

 

"Your memories are erased when you die," he reminded her. "You should not remember me at all. I do not blame you."

 

"But!" she protested, then paused. "I suppose I shouldn't. But I wish I did."

 

"No, you do not," he corrected wearily. "If you remembered me it would be very awkward, since you are not my wife."

 

Hisana's mind clicked over visibly, landing on the obvious conclusion. She blushed scarlet and hid her face in her knees. "Oh. I never thought of that."

 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Clearly."

 

She sat up and faced him earnestly. "I just feel that it isn't fair, that you have to see me every day and think of what... what I used to be. I don't want to make you suffer."

 

Oh, but this was her, so very kind even at her own expense. "Hisana," he groaned, entirely too intoxicated to deal with this in a calm and dignified fashion. "Please, go back inside and drink enough to forget everything tomorrow morning. I would not be selfish enough to push you away for my own comfort—" At this point, he conveniently managed to forget that he had already done exactly that. "—So your position is safe. Do not concern yourself with my issues."

 

A long, strangely comfortable silence stretched between them.

 

Hisana broke it finally by pushing herself off the edge of the porch to stand before him, hands clenched at her sides. "Captain Byakuya," she said, using his first name for the first time in this lifetime. Even with the honourific attached, it sounded too intimate. Her voice was oddly tight.

 

"Yes, Hisana?"

 

"I apologize in advance for being extremely unfair."

 

Byakuya stared at her. She was biting her lip and looked like someone who had just geared themselves up to do something which frightened them horribly. He still wanted to kiss her.

 

As it turned out, this was convenient, as it seemed that her idea of something 'extremely unfair' was to take his face between her slender hands, stare at him for a moment, then lean down and kiss _him_.

 

He felt vaguely as if someone had hit him with a plank. A very soft, floral-scented plank with very soft skin and very long lashes. Her lips were exactly the same shape as his memory of them, and tasted of nothing in particular since the sake had mostly killed his tongue. His body began to dissolve messily around that one point of contact, like her lips were the only thing holding him into his human shape.

 

She pulled away, and it felt a bit like he'd always imaged dying would.

 

Had he been a bit less drunk, or a bit less his own oblivious self, he might have spent several minutes at that point wondering when this change had come over her and why he hadn't noticed. Some time during his constant torturous mooning after her, she'd started looking back at him, and he'd completely missed it.

 

Byakuya reluctantly considered the possibility that he might, in fact, be an idiot.

 

"I presume you have an explanation," he forced himself to say, grimacing at how shaky his voice was with a combination of shock, joy, and unrelenting terror, "one that does not involve obligation or guilt."

 

Hisana looked faintly hurt, as though she had never considered it and hadn't expect him to either. "Well, I suppose I did it because I wanted to," she said slowly, as though explaining something to a child.

 

He felt very young and vulnerable. "You wanted to? Not because you pity me for loving who you used to be? _Just_ because you wanted to?"

 

"Well, to be precise, I did it because I _really_ wanted to," she corrected, sounding a bit confused. "Is that bad?"

 

The urges to cry and laugh burgeoned simultaneously and he couldn't choose between them, so he did neither and merely met her gaze in what he hoped was a considering, thoughtful manner but probably looked more cross-eyed than anything. "No, I suppose it isn't," he conceded.

 

"Oh, thank goodness," she breathed with clear relief. "Does that mean I can do it again?"

 

He regarded her, certain he was dreaming and hoping painfully that he was not. "If you feel so inclined," he said permissively.

 

Hisana smiled brilliantly. "Good," she said happily. "In that case, don't mind if I do." She leaned in again, closing her eyes and pushing her weight against him.

 

His arms moved on their own to grasp her shoulders, so thin and frail between his powerful hands, and pull her closer. She half-collapsed onto his lap, wriggling upwards unselfconsciously until she was essentially straddling him with her shins on the porch. He wrapped his arms around her until there was very little of her outside of himself. Joy raced through his veins like someone had laced his blood with particularly bubbly champagne. 'Happy' was not a feeling he associated much with himself, but he couldn't think of any other word to describe how he felt in those first few endless moments.

 

"This is against the rules, isn't it," she broke away long enough to say several minutes later.

 

"Very," he assured her, and pulled her back down.

 

The party tumbled on merrily behind them. Byakuya wanted to order it to go on all night long.

 

Whatever life this Hisana had led, it seemed she had carried no burden of love with her into death this time. There was nothing holding her back from loving him as he had loved her all this time, and being the wonderfully direct person she was, she had wasted very little time sorting herself out over the issue.

 

By the heavens, but he loved her.

 

*

 

The choice came down to stepping down from captaincy or finding a way to make her a captain as well, as superior-subordinate romance was forbidden in every military rule book in existence for good reason.

 

Byakuya made the choice quite easily.

 

The War of the Key had tired him out. He was quite ready for a rest.

 

"You're making _me_ captain?" Renji repeated for the third time. "Are you sure?"

 

He levelled a cool glare at his former vice-captain. "Have you ever known me to jest?"

 

"No," Renji replied instantly. "You wouldn't know a joke if it hit you in the face. No offense."

 

"None taken," Byakuya assured him drily. "In any case, yes. I meant it. I have already preapproved it with the Overcaptain. The sixth division is yours. Do try not to let it fall into ruin."

 

"I take it back," said Renji. "You do know how to joke after all."

 

He chose not to dignify that with a response, instead brushing past Renji towards the door.

 

"Enjoy your retirement!" Renji called after him giddily.

 

Byakuya was fairly certain that he would. He raised one hand in an informal wave over his shoulder as he walked out, knowing without looking that Renji was bowing respectfully to his back and fighting tears. They had worked together for decades. Byakuya knew him inside out, and if that was not what Renji was doing he would eat his scarf.

 

He hoped Renji would enjoy the captaincy. He certainly deserved it.

 

Hisana was waiting for him outside, serene and nearly glowing with happiness. "All finished?"

 

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

 

"So it's not illegal anymore for me to kiss you?"

 

"No."

 

She pouted. "Well, that takes half the fun out of it."

 

"Hisana!"

 

A brilliant smile split her face, such as he had never seen her wear before. It was breathtaking, and he stopped to stare.

 

"I kid, I kid!" she avowed, still grinning, and threw herself at him as if to prove it. She was tiny and warm and strong, practically climbing him to reach his face, legs wrapping around his waist in a rather prurient manner.

 

Or perhaps it was his own thoughts which were making it prurient. Either way, it was delightful. Though not given to public displays of affection, he couldn't come anywhere near the amount of self-discipline he would need to pry her off at the moment.

 

"Shall we go?" she asked him brightly, still stuck to him like a particularly animate barnacle.

 

He nodded, and she dropped off to walk alongside him. Her hand snuck its way into his almost before he noticed it, but he was happy to find it there and gave it a gentle squeeze. Hisana pressed against his side as though she were a magnet polarized to Byakuya north. It made him deliriously happy to have her there, though he had no idea how to express such an alien emotion.

 

There had been so much suffering for him without her, so many years devoid of life or caring. He had been so very tired.

 

Byakuya was not tired anymore. What awaited him in sleep could not hope to match what his waking world contained.

 

The first thing he would do when he got home, he decided, was write to Rukia. She would want to know about this, and meet Hisana at long last. Somehow the thought of their meeting no longer brought him dread. It would simply be his wife and her sister, and it would be perfect.

 

His scarf unfurled into the wind behind them as they walked towards their next dawn together.

 

Byakuya found he quite looked forward to it.

 

**X**


End file.
